It's good to have you back! I kept your seat warm while you were away. Wanted to make it nice and easy for you to slide back into things.

Also:

*thwaps Jehaine* You act like I didn't have fun missy.

I discussed it with Raeyn and Jehaine, and we agreed on a minimum weight of 147 for the height of 6'3"

Keep in mind that this weight is for a rather frail person

I know I've been slow with my posting, but I'll be starting a new class soon anyway. Something to help the rest of you progress with your training.

Wilderness survival. Your trainees will have been around for a good bit longer than in the horsemanship class. They'll have mastered the basics of combat and riding. This class is a test of their skills. Bring them prepared.

Fair enough. That clears it up enough that I don't have any problems with that particular mention. There is still the matter of how human she appears... but that's really a matter of personal preference and I suppose it's not something I should deny you your Crosscheck for. My issues being absolved, consider it CC'd.

Personality:

 

Calaun has a fair share of willpower. She will follow orders, but has a strong sense of honor, and will refuse to do things that go against what she believes in. Those beliefs include the Dark One breaking free of his prison and out into the world, and standing in His favor when that time comes. A true Ahf'frait, she believes weapon skill is the path to victory, and has virtually no tolerance for weaklings and cowards. Perhaps the oddest trait of her personality is that she is very adamant on being called a 'Myrddraal' as opposed to 'Halfman', 'Lurk' and other names that seem to be popular amongst Lightfools.

I have a problem with this paragraph. The word Honor implies several things that I don't believe you intend to imply. First and foremost being that she carries beliefs of sympathy, kindness and goodness. That simply can't be so. Secondly, if she truly does strive to free the Dark one of his prison and stand in his favor, then there will never be an order given her that she won't follow. That essentially makes this paragraph moot.

Beyond that, unless I am mistaken, Myrddraal are blessed with less self-will than trollocs(who simply haven't the wit to care). This means that there are many points in this bio that are, quite frankly, too human.

These are my concerns.

I mentioned this when we were discussing the bios previous to me posting them... I just didn't realise it hadn't been removed. It's fixed now.

I don't think the mention is really an issue. Certainly not a large one. The return is not only something openly known of, it is the singular goal of the mighty Seanchan Empire. Everyone would know of it and the plans for such a large scale endeavor would take decades if not more to plan.

Ah, yes, I overlooked that, I'll fix it presently. *rubs eyes* My apologies.

Handle: Jehaine

Email address: amyante[at]hotmail[dot]com

Character Name: Jehaine

Age: 15

Aspiring Society: None (seamstress)

Weapons of Choice: None (Spear or hand to hand if forced)

Clan (Dragonmount or Shaido): Dragonmount

Personality:

Despite being born Aiel, Jehaine could never bring herself to enjoy fighting. She dislikes to see people get hurt, and the caring, almost motherly nature she inherited from her mother resulted in an almost pacifistic outlook on life. That's not to say she doesn't think combat is unnecessary, she just prefers to keep it from happening if possible.

Her emotions provide her with a strong moral compass, and even though she can be a bit insecure at times, she nevertheless has enough courage to do what she feels needs to be done. This is strengthened by her sister looking out for her, to which she feels toh is owed and will do whatever she can to compensate for her actions.

Just about the only personality trait that shows the two are actually related would be that the both of them are heavy sleepers, and have a hard time waking up after sleeping for more than four hours.

Physical Description:

Standing at 6 ft 3, and weighing a mere 147 pounds, Jehaine's build can be best described as being almost frail. Though not much in terms of raw strength, her main strengths are her agility and dexterity, something that came in more than useful when she was apprenticed by her mother as a seamstress. She has long reddish brown hair, reaching down to the small of her back in length, and azure eyes, a small mouth and a celestial nose frame an oval face.

As far as clothing is concerned, she doesn't wear the cadin'sor as she is not a member of any society. Rather, she wears a white blouse with a long red skirt, and an orange band of cloth tied around her waist. She has also taken a liking to wearing anklets, and carries a spear around. The weapon, needs to be mentioned, is mostly used to keep snakes and scorpions at a safe distance, as no Aiel would attack a craftswoman anyway.

Place of Birth/Raising: Chareen clan, White Mountain sept.

Character History:

Born as the eldest twin daughter of a seamstress and a Tain Shari Aiel, Jehaine had a relatively easy childhood compared to the other Aiel families. With both parents not particularly adept at combat, and her own build not exactly suited for fighting either, it felt almost natural to her to help her mother out with her duties. After all, warriors needed clothing as well to protect them from the harsh climate of the Waste, and feuds meant there was never a shortage of demand either, be it torn cadin'sor in need of mending or new gai'shain robes.

Though her dislike of fighting got her a few odd stares amongst her fellow classmates, she nevertheless stuck with the basic weapons training classes every Aiel was expected to know. Even though she was going to be a craftswoman -- and therefore would induce toh to a raider if he as much as glanced at her -- she figured it was simply a part of normal education, like reading, or math, which she excelled at due to the increased time she spent studying the subjects.

Handle: Jehaine

Email address: amyante[at]hotmail[dot]com

Character Name: Jelana

Age: 15

Aspiring Society: Far Dareis Mai

Weapons of Choice: Hand to Hand, Knives

Clan (Dragonmount or Shaido): Dragonmount

Personality:

Almost the complete opposite of her (slightly) older sister, Jelana loves combat. Sparring made both combatants better fighters, which strengthened the hold in turn. The fact that no one in her direct family was particularly adept at fighting meant she took it upon herself to protect them by being able to outfight and outlast any other Aiel, a feeling that was only strengthened by how her sister looked out for her in her own way by taking care of her wounds, and mending her clothing after yet another spar. She had a feeling she owed her toh because of this, and compensated by focusing on honing her fighting skills even more.

Though being less idealistic than her twin sister, her emotions provide her with a strong moral compass as well. Unlike Jehaine however, she is extrovert and fully confident about her abilities, her frequent spars helping her to find her limitations and work to expand them. This is backed up by a fair share of courage, and she looks down on those that would flee from battle.

Just about the only personality trait that shows the two are actually related would be that the both of them are heavy sleepers, and have a hard time waking up after sleeping for more than four hours.

Physical Description:

Standing at 5 ft 11, and weighing 145 pounds, Jelana has an athletic build, and trains to ensure her muscles keep from affecting her speed. Though slower than her sister, she is far stronger, and wins most of the time the two siblings wrestle for fun. She has vermillion red hair reaching down to just below her shoulder blades in length, and her eye color is close to the purple of twilight. This, along with a small mouth and nose frames a heart shaped face with a pointed chin.

As far as clothing is concerned, she tries to emulate a cadin'sor as much as possible without it actually being a cadin'sor, at least not until she joins a Society. Favoring knives over spears, she usually carries an extra belt knife around with her, and prefers the same sand and earth colored clothing as can be seen in cadin'sor.

Place of Birth/Raising: Chareen clan, White Mountain sept.

Character History:

Born as the youngest twin daughter of a seamstress and a Tain Shari Aiel, Jelana had a relatively easy childhood compared to the other Aiel families, something that annoyed her to no end. With both parents not particularly adept at combat, and her sister unsuited for prolonged fighting, she saw it as her task to ensure her family would get the share of ji it deserved. As her mother taught her sister, so did her father take her under his wing, and taught the girl what he knew of tactics as well as some pointers on combat.

Jelana worked on fighting almost as if to make up her sister's lack of potential, and as a result her skill at arithmetic suffered, falling below average compared to the other Aiel of her age. Even though her sister and mother -- and therefore her roof -- was considered property of a craftswoman (and therefore not to be touched in a raid), she wanted to be prepared in case a raider had a more different view of ji'e'toh, or simply in case they ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Handle: Jehaine

Email address: amyante[at]hotmail[dot]com

Character Name: Kizuna Morinagare

Age: 19

Profession: Damane

Weapon (primary): None.

Personality:

Though initially optimistic, Kizuna's personality has changed to pessimism after she had been declared damane. Naturally spirited, she refuses to give in completely and lose the scraps of her former identity she is still clinging to despite the efforts of the sul'dam in breaking her. They did however manage to make her do as she is told, and some of the less conservative sul'dam are content with that.

She has degraded into a cold, emotionally distant personality that cares as little about others as others appear to care for her. She still retains a bit of free-spiritedness that pops up every now and then, usually in the form of an annoyed glare or a sarcastic comment. Though she's careful with the latter around sul'dam, acting reserved (and sometimes deliberately exaggerating so) where they are able to overhear.

Physical Description:

A bit shorter than the average Seanchan, Kizuna stands at 5 ft 5, weighing around 121 pounds. She has raven black hair reaching down to the small of her back in length, and has hazel eyes. Her build is lean, and would be called willowy if she had been taller than she is. She has a heart shaped face with a small and pointed nose and long thin eyebrows.

Clothing wise, she doesn't have much in the way of choice, given her 'profession'. Though her wardrobe, as a damane, is limited to gray dresses, gray dresses and more gray dresses, she formerly tended to wear faint colors, believing it set off her eyes and hair better.

Place of Birth/Raising: Shon Kifar, Seanchan

Character History:

Kizuna was born as the second daughter of Hana and Shiro Morinagare. Being proud of her looks, she emulated her older sister during the time she'd spend combing her hair or choosing which dress to wear, which developed quite a bit of pride in the girl's personality. Much like her older sister, she soon became a member of the 'popular crowd' that had earned the attention of a large number of boys in the village. Not wanting to see his daughters get into something they couldn't handle, he tried to teach them both the basics of how to use a sword, but only his eldest daughter turned out to have some talent in that area. Even if he didn't exactly expect his daughters to use live swords on a boy interested in them, sticks could be used as swords just as well if they'd stick to the basic movements, right?

However, Kizuna developed a rivalry of sorts against a girl living in her neighbourhood, forcing her to actually compete for attention. To make matters worse, she didn't even appear to try! After doing her best to try and outdo Amyante in everything, she eventually gave up after noticing the girl held no grudges or ill intentions towards her. Talking to her, she actually felt the two of them had a lot in common, and had the impression they could be good friends instead.

The two started talking to each other more often, and Kizuna took to watching Amyante as she went through some basic forms -- not all of them successfully. After that, the two of them would usually just sit in the grass and talk to each other about what they planned to do when they were old enough. Ideas shifted between one and the other fairly often, until the time troops from Shon Kifar came marching past. It was then that Kizuna had known what she wanted to be, looking at the sul'dam. To be able to control the power of a damane, and in doing so protect the people -- maybe even the Blood! -- from the threat a marath'damane could pose. Looking next to her, she followed her friend's gaze up into the sky, noticing the raken in the air. Chuckling, she commented that it suited her, having her head in the clouds like that, to which Amyante joked back about a sul'dam's damane being the closest thing to a servant someone not of the Blood could have.

One day, a government official came by to test the girls on their potential. Kizuna was one of the first present for the gathering, her farm being closer to the town center than most. She smiled expectantly as she saw a man approach her with an a'dam and held out her arm to him, confident that she was to wear the bracelet, but when the a'dam snapped shut around her neck instead it felt to her as if all her hopes and dreams shattered in that instant. A marath'damane? Her? This had to be a mistake, she couldn't be...

Unfortunately for her, she was. And when she was led up to a cloth-covered wagon that hid her -- and some girls from the surrounding villages, she now noticed -- from view, she had a very real feeling she'd never see her friends and family again. As the cart lurched into motion, she vaguely wondered if Amyante would make it to morat'raken one day...

Handle: Jehaine

Email address: amyante[at]hotmail[dot]com

Character Name: Amyante Tojimaru

Age: 19

Profession: Sul'dam

Weapon (primary): Hand to Hand

Personality:

She feels good about herself, and it shows in her manner. However, this doesn't necessarily mean she believes everything will always turn out well for everyone, although she'll try to prevent people feeling down. She's also a strategist, able to see the big picture of things, which she credits to her open-mindedness. To her, imagination is a wonderful thing, allowing for creativity. In her view: "Rationalists follow the facts, idealists create them."

She's often empathic to a person's feelings, and doesn't have a lot of trouble trying to figure out why a person did what he/she did. This also means she doesn't see the world in the black/white way more logically inclined people would lean towards. She's laid back, and knows how to enjoy herself. However, she can get serious if the situation calls for it.

She's pretty smart, but her helpful nature sometimes causes her to appear naive. She just has a hard time turning people down, often leading to guilt trips and/or her feeling bad about it. She is also more inclined to act on her emotions. She hardly ever plans ahead, believing that it'd only hinder her should the situation change. The more strict the plan, the less it could be corrected if the situation would call for it. Therefore, she has focused herself on improvising, since she believes that adaptability would benefit her more than rigid planning.

Physical Description:

Amyante is fairly tall, standing at 5 ft 9 and weighing approximately 137 pounds. She has strawberry blond hair reaching down to halfway between her shoulder blades in length, and her eyes are a shade of blue that is known as 'royal blue', something she tends to joke about amongst friends when talking about their chances of being raised to the Blood. She has an athletic build, strong but not muscular, and a small nose and thin lips frame a heart shaped face.

Clothing wise, her favorite colors are blue, white and red, in that order, and it shows in her clothing. She never wears makeup (save for the occasional exception), not really seeing the use in pretending to be what she is not.

Place of Birth/Raising: Shon Kifar, Seanchan

Character History:

Amyante was born as the daughter of Fiona and Yasushi Tojimaru, in a small village near Shon Kifar. Living with the prospect of needing to help out at the farm, she helped her parents with chores as much as she could, developing a good amount of stamina and endurance over time. Her mother, who negotiated for her father when the time came to sell the food they had grown, taught her how to count and read, and in between chores her father taught her some of the basics of a certain martial arts style he had picked up from an officer during his time in the army.

The girl didn't really have enemies in the village, as she could get along with nearly everyone with equal ease. There was of course some chafing with the 'popular crowd', but nothing out of the ordinary took place in this one-sided rivalry. After a few years, she eventually became best friends with Kizuna, one of her former 'rivals' living a few farms away. When a few regiments of troops marched for Shon Kifar, the two children watched the rows of gleaming armor as they marched in preparation for the Return.

Amyante's eyes were aimed skywards though, at the morat'raken that flew high above everyone else, higher than she could ever imagine herself to be. It made quite an impression on her, as she would often try to imagine what her home village looked like from high above, feeling the wind play with her hair as she soared. Kizuna on the other hand was enthousiastic about becoming a sul'dam, and climbing her way up to nobility from there. The both of them had high hopes, until the day came that an official came to test them.

Much to Amyante's astonishment, she was found able to become a sul'dam herself. Happy at hearing the news, she set out to find Kizuna to tell her the news, but she was unable to find her anywhere. Enthousiasm turned to wonder, then to worry as her friend was nowhere to be found. What she found more odd however was that her best friend's parents ignored her questions, pretending she had never existed in the first place. Her own parents took her aside then, and after making sure no one was close enough to overhear told her that Kizuna had turned out to be marath'damane, and was taken away.

From that moment on, Amyante's mind was set. She'd travel to Shon Kifar with the official's letter that she had the potential to become a sul'dam, find her friend-turned-damane, and arrange for the two to be assigned to each other. She had heard rumors of how damane were being treated by some of the sul'dam, and she wanted to spare Kizuna that fate of being assigned to the wrong person. Saying goodbye to her parents, she made her way to the city, to the army recruitment office where the letter told her to go...

Checked Crossly!

The applicant for this bio has requested an additional addendum to it, so I'm actually going to ask you to remove your CC until such time as I can work the details with the submitter and post the edited bio. My apologies.

DM Handle: Sylvirci

Email:

sylvirci@yahoo.com

DIV Bio is for: Freelanders, Seanchan

Character Name: Fyruk Da’covale

Age: 20

From: Shon Kifar, Sheanchan

Height: 5’8

Weight: 150lbs

Hair: Raven blue-black

Eyes: Green

Appearance: Angelically beautiful. Shoulder length hair that is blue-black and tied back with a black leather tie. Eyes as green as emeralds on a face that is innocent and childlike that adds a look of extreme beauty. He wears basic armor of the Ever Victorious Army most of the time and when not in armor he wears simple black pants and boots, leaving his perfect form exposed for all to see. He was very obviously in excellent shape, but that was to be expected after a life in service to a Lady of the Blood. He had danced and done forms since he could walk and all that training made him a sleek and slim powerhouse of muscled beauty. The last thing of note, and very few ever see it, is a birthmark on his right wrist. It is a perfect side profile of a raven in flight, of such a dark brown color as to appear black.

Personality: Fyruk knows he is property, he was born property and will die property. He is not dissatisfied or unhappy with this knowledge, instead he is jubilant and proud of his da’covale status. He has served a member of the Blood his whole life and lives to please whichever of the Blood currently owns him. He is fiercely devout and loyal to his newest Lady, the Daughter of the Nine Moons, may she live forever, and will attack anyone who questions or disobeys her in a heart beat even if he is unarmed. To him, his life means nothing if he loses sei’taer or face and honor before his Lady. He will do anything to keep that from happening.

History: Born as a da’covale he was taught that his life was to be in service to the Blood since his first breath. As he was an exceptionally beautiful child with an rare birthmark the Lady in charge of Shon Kifar immediately took him as her own da’covale. He was trained from the moment he could walk in the art of dances and forms that would please her. He was also taught how to serve the Lady in other ways as well, such as serving kaf and food or holding the hunting birds the Lady loved so much.

It was a good life for him as he gained favor with the Lady and grew to be a constant presence around her. When he was twelve she took an interest in seeing how he reacted around armed men while they trained for combat. Letting him watch the soldiers train barehanded and with weapons she watched his eyes. At first he barely paid attention until it became clear she expected him to, then he avidly watched the men go through their forms and exorcises. He was awed and drank in as much as he could. With his quick mind and good memory he quickly learned the forms and could do them himself.

His Lady did not want him to be scarred however, so instead she set a master to teach him and a damane to heal any bruise or cut immediately. Then he performed those forms for her pleasure, much to her great delight. Since his lady was so pleased with his performance of military forms he watched all soldiers of all ranks to learn all that he could and quickly realized that, if he so chose, he could be a soldier himself. However he would never do so nor would he ever ask. The Lady was Blood and he lived to serve the Blood and would do nothing to earn sei’mosiev, or face before one of the Blood. So he kept to watching and learning but only performing the forms for his Lady’s pleasure.

When he was 19 his life changed drastically. He was performing for his Lady when a commotion and the sounds of battle were heard from outside the chambers. He glanced quickly towards the Lady and saw the Blood drain from her face, fearing the worst and not receiving any commands from anyone. He quickly stopped what he was doing and ran to stand by the door. He was shirtless and only wearing the see-through white cloth pants of one of his station, but none of that mattered. He would defend his Lady no matter what, even at the cost of his own life!

A moment later the door was blown off its hinges and in swarmed a man dressed in the black and dark green of the Death Watch. Fear coursed through his veins for an instant but it wasn’t fear for himself, it was fear for his Lady. Letting the years of practicing the forms take over he slammed into the second Death Watch and saw him knocked back into the men behind them. The first man spun around and was shocked to see a dancing da’covale standing before him. That surprise allowed Fyruk to reach up and with a snap of his wrist he disarmed the man and ran him through. Now the other Death Watch were recovered from the initial psuh backwards and they swarmed around him on all sides. Without thinking about what he was doing, Fyruk simply lashed out at the closest one and managed to slash a small gash in his face before he himself was run through by ten blades. Fyruk started swinging wildly now and wasn’t sure if he managed to land strikes or not.

He would have kept going but his Lady’s voice rang out in fear, “ Hold da’covale! Do not fight the Blood or their Death Watch! My Lady! What brings the Daughter of the Nine Moons, may she live forever, to see one as low as me?” Fyruk stopped and swaying from so many wounds looked around to see his Lady prostrate on the floor, the Death Watch had stopped as well and now made way for the woman walking slowly into the room. Seeing that she was Blood and guessing that she was the Daughter of the Nine Moons, may she live forever, he immediately dropped the sword and prostrated himself face on the ground arms and hands held flat and straight towards her. He wanted to apologize, say that if he had known it was Blood attacking he would not have fought, but it wasn’t true and he wasn’t allowed to speak unless spoken to. So he stayed there, even bleeding as he was, he stayed perfectly still. He had done what he thought a da’covale should do, live to serve or die for the Blood who owned them and he refused to feel regret for his actions.

His hearing and mind were starting to fade as talking began, all he made out was the Death Watch speaking in awe about what he had done before he was suddenly jerked upright and then he lost consciousness. When he awoke he was ravenous but he felt otherwise like he was whole. Opening his eyes he glanced about and was instantly helped to an upright position and then force fed. When he had cleared the bowl of food he was helped out of bed, it was then he noticed that he didn’t have a single wound. Realization struck him, he had been healed by a damane.. He was wondering why but kept his head down as he was lead by two Death Watch to his Lady’s receiving chambers. Only now his Lady was nowhere to be seen from the corner of his eyes. Instead he saw the dress he remembered from earlier.

Going prostrate instantly he wondered what had happened but he didn’t have long to wait before a melodious voice spoke. “ What is your name da’covale? What possessed a da’covale to attack Death Watch warriors and slay two of them? The Daughter of the Nine Moons wishes to know, may she live forever.” Without any hesitation he responded calmly and softly.

“ This da’covale is named Fyruk if it pleases the Lady? This da’covale has spent many years serving my former Lady by watching the soldiers train and practice, then performing their forms for the Lady’s pleasure if it please my Lady? This da’covale simply reacted to the threat he felt was bared against my former Lady if it please my Lady?” He didn’t feel like he was betraying his former Lady, he served the Blood and a higher member of the Imperial family was definitely higher and worthy of his calling her my Lady. He was curious as to why he had been saved though, attacking the Death Watch was equivalent to attacking the Blood!

Again that melodious voice rang out, “ It does please our Lady to hear these words. Fyruk, da’covale, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Lieutenant in the Ever Victorious Army! You will be watched and if found deserving will be promoted to Death Watch status and serve our Lady as one of her guard. You are dismissed!” He immediately got up and bowed as he walked out of her presence backwards.

He turned around and was immediately stopped as the doors closed behind him. Standing before was the Captain of his new Lady’s Death Watch, he looked and judged Fyruk with a quick glance before saying, “ You will forget you past except for your warrior’s training. It was I who spoke on your behalf to our Lady. I asked about how a da’covale who could fight, however ineptly, against my men and manage to kill two of them. After learning that you have never fought but been trained in the forms showed me that you have great potential to become a very skilled member of the Death Watch. Those skills along with this,” the Captain grabbed Fyruk’s arm and revealed his birthmark, “ tells me you were destined to be one of us. Now all you have to do is bring Honor and Glory to our Lady and yourself to earn it. Don’t disappoint me in helping you achieve this Honor being bestowed to you. I will see you again. Now go Lieutenant and no more of the old bowing and scraping around.”

Fyruk started to look down at the dismissal but at the Captain’s clearing of his throat, he looked up with pride and a hint of defiance. “ Good, you learn quickly. Never forget to be proud of your status and the status to come. We leave to reclaim the ancient lands of the Empress’ ancestors, may she live forever, in a few days. Train hard and when we land fight even harder and claim your place among my men in service to our Lady.” With that the Captain walked through the doors of the chamber and they closed once more.

A feeling close to ecstasy washed through him as the realization of what had just happened finally dawned on him. He vowed right there to bring Honor and glory to his new Lady and would not disappoint her, ever! With thoughts of devotion for his new Lady of the Blood and things he could and would do to prove himself worthy of the new status flowing through his mind he followed a soldier to where the rest of the Ever Victorious Army was camped.

Over the next few months he trained diligently to become a good warrior and leader. All day he trained and part of the night as well. He felt he had so much to learn and so little time to learn it before they landed in the old world. During this time he turned twenty but barely noticed or thought about it until someone asked him how old he was. They thought to question his right to command until they realized from someone else that when he was untrained he had killed two members of the Death Watch. That made the others in his new command quickly silence themselves lest they find his blade buried in their chest. He was a favorite of his Lady and everyone knew it, no one would risk harming him and losing face and honor before Her. He waited now for the horizon to appear and glorious battle engaged in the name of the Empress, may she live forever!

Handle: Flavius

Character Name: Ahdam Baraka

Email Address: scott_m67@hotmail.com

Division: Freelanders

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Standing a 5’ 10, Ahdam is unusually tall and lithe for a Domani male. His skin is a deep copper colour, and his dark hair comes down to his shoulders. He takes meticulous care of his person and as such sports no scars or disfiguring marks, and he prefers to keep himself clean shaved. His health became somewhat delicate in his later years.

His eyes are a dark brown, with a long face, and his hair his usually tied back into braids. Due to his travels his clothing is rather eclectic. Whilst on the road he usually favours loose fitting coats and pants with knee high boots, however when at though home he tends to dress more sumptuously, often adorning himself with rings, and bracelets.

Personality:

Ahdam made his wealth away from his homeland of Arad Doman, and so is rather independently minded, given to bouts of mild eccentricity brought on by never settling down in one place for very long, or very well. His treatment at the hands of the Far Madding Council have leant him a great deal of cynicism and scepticism over the years. Often an affable enough man, Ahdam’s seemingly aristocratic narcissism has fooled more than one merchant into thinking him a pompous, idiotic noble playing merchant. This is usually something Ahdam is happy to take advantage of.

Place of Birth:  Bandar Eban

Character History: The only son of a Domani merchant family cast Ahdam as an outsider from the very beginnings of his life. His father died shortly after his birth, and his mother was unfortunate enough to have loved the man enough not to remarry. As such she taught Ahdam all she knew regarding the merchant skills. However when Ahdam came of age he found himself constantly disadvantaged in a world dominated by women. He fought hard to make his first major fortune, securing trading deals with several Saldaean corn farmers.

A consortium of merchants conspired to drive Ahdam out of the market, and as such nearly bankrupted him in a yearlong financial struggle that sucked his limited resources dry. His fall was a very public affair, something Ahdam will never forget. He was eventually driven out of Arad Doman with little more than a wagon loaded with some personal possessions. This instilled in Ahdam a grim determination to triumph at any cost, and a deep resentment of his low social standing in Arad Doman; he would never be so embarrassed again. He often assumes a more noble air to hide his background.

He settled for a time in Illian where he was able to set himself up to take advantage of the city’s ports. Within a year of arriving he had formed a small consortium, name the Blue Sun after a small inn he lived in for several weeks whilst organising the group, which specialised in agricultural imports from Ebou Dar and Tear. The following years saw Ahdam expand his trading links to Murandy and Caemlyn, as well as diversifying to weapons, clothing, furniture, books and some limited luxury items.

At the age of twenty he moved to Far Madding, where once again Ahdam found himself under attack by an entrenched female society. Whilst not as virulent as his Domani kin, Ahdam has found much fiercer competition in Far Madding, brought on by the simple fact he is a man. His status as a foreigner allows him to avoid many of the city’s stringent rules regarding male citizens and trade, however he is forbidden from owning property outside the immediate vicinity of the three foreigner friendly markets. Ahdam stays there as much to snub the city’s matriarchal leaders as for its prime position.

All of this proved to be worth it, as Ahdam was able to expand his trading links further into Cairhein and as far north as Tar Valon. Ahdam has since amassed considerable wealth, and owns homes in Far Madding, Illian and Tar Valon, as well as operating several trade ships that ply the Erinin River.

Despite all this Ahdam has developed something of wanderlust over the years, and frequently travels abroad to seek out new trading deals. However he usually finds himself plagued by illnesses during his travels, this despite his robust health. Regardless Ahdam is eager to set himself up in Tar Valon, and as such has been spending increasingly more time in the city, hoping to capitalise on the needs of the Aes Sedai.

Handle: Jehaine

Character Name: Mara Novares

Email address: amyante@hotmail.com

Division: Freelanders

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Physical Description:

Having inherited her father's height, Mara is fairly tall, standing at 5 ft 10 and weighing roughly 130 pounds due to said height. She has sleek dark brown hair reaching down to the middle of her back in length, and blue eyes. She has a lean build and, like most Tairens, an olive skin tone.

Perhaps one of the most distinguishing traits of hers would be a multitude of scars on her back, some short, some long and deep. This is the main reason she prefers not to keep her back exposed, and will steer well clear of the topic should it ever come up.

Personality:

Having grown up on the streets, where pessimists usually didn't last long, Mara is moderately optimistic. Over the years, she has learned to listen to her gut feelings, and will not hesitate to back out of something if she doesn't like it. Though this means she tends to follow her heart and emotions at times, she's fairly rational, and tends to keep an eye on what needs to be done before making important decisions.

She is a proud woman, taking a great amount of confidence out of being independant, and this alone has given her more than a fair share of courage. Though still not really used to depending on a group of people to keep things running, she nevertheless looks out for their safety as well, appreciating their thoughts on a matter even though she doesn't speak it.

Place of Birth/Raising: Godan, Tear

Character History:

Though she has little to no recollection of it, Mara was born as the daughter of Meilan and Rosana Novares. Her father wanted nothing to do with her for being illegitimate, and her mother died of an illness several years after she was born. Effectively orphaned, she had had to live off of the muddy streets of Godan, forced to scrounge together her food or not eat at all. Banding together with a small gang of other children, she managed to pick up the tricks of the trade, and developed a good amount of cunning through use of the noble art of larceny.

Still, she eventually reached the age where she would no longer be able to avoid notice in a crowd due to her height. She was still more agile, but it was getting exceedingly harder to shake off her pursuers, and this made her think of a change of profession. Given that she lived in a large port city, she headed for the docks to see if she could find a more honest line of work... Or at least one where she'd not be chased all the time. Becoming a prostitute wasn't even worth considering in her eyes.

Thus, she managed to get a job on a fishing vessel. Though the captain was at first a bit hesitant about allowing women on board as part of the crew, Mara seemed capable enough. Using her natural agility to her advantage, it quickly became clear the captain had no need to become disappointed. Despite the obvious -- and some less obvious -- initial friction between her and the rest of the crew, she proved her worth to them quickly enough, and it wasn't long until she was being treated as a full member of the crew.

That was, until the pirates came.

The attack came with little to no warning. One minute, Mara and the crew were just working on the routine checks of the netting, the next, catapulted rocks were flying to either side of the ship as warning shots. Being unarmed, the vessel was forced to surrender, and was subsequently boarded. Faced with nothing much in the way of valuables to take, the pirates left again with some token posessions and... a certain young girl.

As teh fishing vessel was left behind, its rigging sabotaged to buy time for their escape, Mara found herself on a ship full of pirates. Morale seemed to be low, though the captain didn't seem to be noticing as he threatened her, by giving her an option to choose between sleeping with him and sleeping with the fish.

She chose the fish.

The heads of the closest pirates jerked up in surprise, some elbowing others as they gathered around the two of them, amused at the sudden turn of events. Not wanting to be embarrased in front of his crew, he threatened her again, trying to intimidate her by unsheathing his sword. Anger and pride taking the upper hand, she replied with what could be described as 'various comments on his mental state, as well as choice of bed partners', leading to loud laughter amongst the crew. The captain, enraged now, ordered her to be keelhauled. Laughter stopped then, and there were some protests, but the captain wouldn't back down, and Mara wouldn't apologise either.

When she emerged on the other side of the ship, the barnacles on the underside of the ship had turned her back into a bloody mess. Half drowned, bleeding heavily and fighting to keep consciousness, she was pulled over the rail. At the sight of the captain, it took all of her remaining willpower and determination to slowly stand up again, earning the respect of most of the crew. It was only until the captain stormed off to his cabin that she finally allowed her knees to give in, hitting the deck with a dull thud.

She awoke in one of the cabins, the smell of sweat and salt water telling her that it was where the crew slept. Too weakened to even raise her head, she turned to look at her side, noticing a man standing there. She tried to speak, but even though the words sounded distant and garbled to her she managed to get the message across as he noticed she was awake. After checking her bandages, he nodded to himself before starting to talk.

He introduced himself as Timeon, and he was the ship's doctor, pressed into service when the ship he had worked on originally had been boarded. Ignoring the captain's order that she be tossed overboard, she was hidden inside of the crew's sleeping quarters where he treated her wounds. She was too weak to protest when he told her to get some sleep, and managed to do just that while her back was still throbbing painfully.

Several days later, when Mara had regained enough of her strength to stand again, Timeon helped her walk around the ship. It turned out that the crew had made her the unofficial ship's mascot when the former captain had been ousted in favor of another. Still, she couldn't help but feel... at home, somehow. The old captain was gone, not really leaving her with any reason to hate the pirates. Timeon and the crew treated her like family and when she really thought about it... the life didn't even seem that different compared to what she had been doing as a child.

Several years later, she had worked her way up from a member of the crew to become one of the officers. She was well liked on the ship, and she returned the feeling, having finally found a place where she belonged. When an arrow took the life of the captain, she was elected to be the new one. Opting for a less risky path, she used the collection of looted flags kept in the captain's quarters to optimal effect, flying whatever colors would be to their advantage when posing as 'honorable traders' to sell the supplies they looted off of merchant vessels.

One such assault got her a rather odd looking weapon: It looked like the quarterstaff she had known from her childhood in Tear, only this one had double bladed axe heads attached to both sides as well as steel tips at the ends. Every infamous pirate she had heard of had something to distinguish himself from the others, and she decided then that this strange weapon would be hers. In comparison to a regular quarterstaff, she found that the weapon allowed her more power and momentum at the cost of accelleration and speed, but it was a price she found she was ready to pay, confident as she was that her natural agility would be enough to compensate for the loss. Given that at her current level of skill she's more likely to hurt herself with it than others, she decided to only practise with it on shore, where her footing would at least have a semi-decent chance and she didn't have a ship to oversee.

Donovan smiled inwardly as the girl ranted, a mixture of amusement and irritation flitting across his eyes. His hand tightened on the haft of the axe he had left in the post, and he waited for her voice to die.

“Let one slip, did I?” He said quietly, leveling the full weight of his gaze on her, and locking eyes over the short distance. “If I had slipped, you’d be speaking through a split skull right now.” He pulled the axe free with a powerful motion to emphasize his point.

“Look around.” He waited as she did. “Do you see any other posts nearby?” He knew there were none. “Any targets? Anything at all that I might chuck my axe at?” He slid the blade almost casually into his belt as measured his next words.

“Then what makes you think I slipped?

Edalia met his gaze levelly, the Light blind her if she was going to back down now. "One word...Luck" she said, raising her chin defiantly and wishing that her face wasn't glowing with embarrassment, as she suspected it was. "Pure Luck that your axe hit the post. Why would you want to 'kill' the post anyway? I think that your hand slipped and it was sheer luck that it landed where it did.

She paused for breath, "I certainly don't think you can do it again!" She threw the challenge down fighting a grin and suppressing the horrified inner voice that was demanding her to be quiet before he had her thrown out of the Children for being cheeky to her Superior.

Staring at him defiantly she awaited his response, certain that she'd gone too far this time.

He weighed her carefully for a moment, noting the perspiration on her brow and the grin threatening to rise on her face.

"What do I get if I can?"

She blinked in surprise, well that was a response Edalia wasn't expecting. She expected a shouting match and a disciplinary at the very least, not her challenge taken up. Despite herself, she grinned. "Well that all depends if you manage to duplicate your feat now doesn't it?" She moved back over to the post, meeting him stare for stare.

"If you can hit the post again, then I'll have to see about a prize" Edalia spoke, emphasising the first word and laughing inwardly at the response it got.

His brow furrowed slightly but his axe was very rapidly in his hand and he was returning to the spot he had previously occupied. Over his shoulder he shouted. "You might want to move."

After reaching the spot, he stood with his back to the post, taking two deep breaths to give her time before lifting his arm, pivoting mechanically and heaving the axe through the air.

Edalia didn't need telling twice and she all but ran from the general area of the post. She inwardly berated herself for being so foolish as to challenge a senior Child of Light, but something about him got under her skin. She watched as he suddenly pivoted and hurled the axe into the air. She knew without looking that it would hit the post, and sure enough she was proved right.

Walking back over to the post she saw how the blade had practically buried itself into exactly the same gash that had been made by the previous effort.

Nodding, she conceded that the first throw hadn't been an accident after all and turned a mock glare on him. "So now I expect you'll be wanting a prize, I suppose? Well I'll tell you now, that I'm no trophy to be taken easily" Now why had she said that?? It seemed that he didn't just get under her skin as much as bury his way under it!

He laughed. In truth he couldn't do anything but. Something in him just snapped, and the laughter rolled up from deep within his unclad chest and echoed out across the yard.

He struggled to regain his composure and when he had reigned his amusement back to a reasonable level, he said between chuckles, "No, I suppose you're not. But that's alright, I'll just have to settle for a drink. Tonight. After sunset."

Without giving her time to respond he turned and started walking towards the scent of crisped beef drifting over from the kitchens. When he reached the edge of the yard he called back to her. “I’ll be waiting outside the main gates.” He started to walk off, thought better of it, and added; “Oh, and you might not want to wear your uniform. Recruits do have a bed time.” With a final chuckle he left, following his stomach all the way to the table.

Edalia and Donovan.

I'm in, mafia games are always fun.

Bio for Feen, Damane

Full Name: Feen Kirwan

Age: 16

From: Seanchan

Height: 5’ 2”

Weight:  64kg

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Blue

Appearance: Feen is a slender girl, with large blue eyes that seem perpetually vulnerable and shy.  She is pretty in an unconventional way; her eyes are large, her nose thin and her lips a bit thin.

Character History:  She was scared, when the people came.  The villagers boiled around, trying to make sure that their esteemed guests felt welcomed, yet all Feen felt was fright.  From her vantage point the other villagers ran around like headless chickens over the green, into their houses to make their appearance as tidy as possible and the objects of the guests’ visit were prepared and ready.  Children not quick enough to move or hide were pressed into service to wash dishes, protesting all the while as their mothers or older sisters rubbed smears of dirt or grease from their cheeks with swift, firm dabs from a handkerchief.  Overhead, the clouds mimicked the villagers; colliding and moving in haste as though precipitous.  Feen shrank further into her hiding place.  The smell of pickled food filled her nose along with the dirt underneath her and the dust of ages, and she closed her eyes trying to blot out what was happening.

~~~~~~~~

A memory stirred.  She was a young girl, looking up at her mother’s smiling face.  Her father would be hard at work in his study, looking at receipts and bills of sale; he was a trader and out of the village for long periods at a time, and Feen wanted to be with him more than anything.  Her mother was adamant, however, that her father should get his work done first before showing his daughter any attention.  That he barely finished before her bedtime, for sleepy seven-year-old girls should not question her parents’ decree even for something like this, was beside the point.  Soon, her mother promised, they would all have enough money to move to the city, and then all of their problems would be solved.

~~~~~~~~

The memory moved forward in time.  Three years on, and ten-year-old Feen and her family still remained in the little village on the outskirts of Seandar.  Her spirits were low, and her mother’s face was still kindly, but it was now lined with the strains of age and hard times.  The village, the whole world it seemed, was enduring hard times.  High in the big house on the hill, the Lord would occasionally send extra grain to them but beyond that the villagers were on their own.  Ten years old and she was already worrying where her next meal would come from.  She began to withdraw into her own world, finding a measure of escapism in the hope of a higher name and one day becoming something more than she was, but it never lasted.  Reality put paid to that.

~~~~~~~~

Three years on.  Feen and her family hadn’t moved into the city yet, and her father was obviously beginning to despair no matter how he tried to hide it.  Feeling that he had destroyed the hope of survival and honour for his family, he took a knife from the kitchen and closed the door so none could enter.  He did not miss his heart when he stabbed himself.  Blood pooled around him and by the time Feen’s mother forced her way into the kitchen, the last vestiges of life were twitching away from her father’s body.  Her cry of loss and anguish roused the entire village.  For many nights Feen would not sleep due to her mother’s tears keeping her awake, and the sadness filling her own heart with heaviness.

~~~~~~~~

Booted feet stopped just beside the barrels Feen hid behind.  Instantly she held her breath, waiting for the shadow to move away from her hiding place.  A flash of grey skirt, panelled with a lightning bolt, came into view and Feen bit her lip, trying not to make a sound.  Tears ran down her cheeks, blotting onto her collar and changing the colour of the fabric from mid-blue to dusk.  She bit her lip in harsh remembrance.

~~~~~~~~

Six months ago.  Age fifteen.  Her birthday not two weeks’ passed.  Feen stared down at the broken fragments of vase at her feet, not wanting to explain what had happened to her mother.  Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as realisation hit.  Was she marath’damane?   She had channelled the One Power, there was no other explanation for it, and now her mother’s favourite vase was broken at her feet.  It had only been a shout, Feen had thought, a vent of frustration that their situation would never change.  The vase had moved across the tabletop as though it had been struck, and clattered off the edge into myriad pieces.  She felt sick, nauseous, and had gone to her room in tears.  The vase lay in bits still; Feen resolved to tell her mother she had accidentally banged into the table.  She would have to.  If she could just hide it for long enough…

~~~~~~~~

The sound of boots shifting position on gravel indicated that the shadow beyond the barrels was not going to go away.  Risking a look, Feen saw the figure had bent down and a dimly visible length of silvery metal flashed the sunlight once, twice, and was then pulled up.  A face replaced the leash, and words that would stay with her forever pierced her hiding place.

“There’s one more for the testing.  Get up, child!  This could be more honour than you will see in your lifetime.  Move!”

Feen was going to stay where she was, but the Sul’dam on the other side started moving the barrels out of the way.  Standing and brushing her skirt down, Feen moved out into view, hastily wiping tears from her face.  Faces all around her watched her, wondering why she was hiding on such a happy day, and then Feen saw the questioning glance of her mother.

She did not remember the testing.  All Feen could think of was that her name would be stricken from all records, her existence effectively erased, for she was less than human.  Able to channel the One Power, she would be leashed for the safety of the world and the glory of the Empress, may She live forever.  Her mother looked stonily ahead, not meeting the eyes of her daughter.  Now she was nothing, with no future or status.  Her home would be wherever her Sul’dam chose for her to sleep.  And the sound of the leash clicking around her neck had the sound of shackles being fastened, and the metal felt as cold as the grave.

A cool autumn breeze blew peacefully over Donovan's shoulders. It did little to dry the sweat that covered him, but it did feel nice beneath a sun that seemed determined to prolong the summer. His muscles tensed and relaxed methodically as he moved smoothly through his forms. The warm wood of an axe-haft filled each of his big hands as he sidestepped, parried and sliced invisible attackers.

In time his arms grew heavy, and with a rapid parry, chop, and kick he ended three of his assailants. The forth he decided was fleeing behind him, and with a pivot and a throw he dropped it quickly. Or he would have, had there been anything to drop. Instead his axe trembled violently from where it has sunk deep into a wooden post. A wooden post that just happened to be no more than two feet from a very startled looking young woman in a loose fitting shirt and breeches.

Her quickened breathing caused her chest to strain against the ties at the front of her shirt. After a moment's distraction Donovan's eyes refocused on her face and he recognised her as one of the new recruits.

He closed the distance between them in a few short strides and set to working his axe from the target post. With both eyes affixed to where the blade entered the wood, he spoke lightly, "You should choose where you stand with more care. I may seldom miss, but I prefer to have my skills tested on my own terms."

~Donovan Rile

IC:

Donovan watched in horror as his ‘students’ mounted attempted a the few laps he had set to them. It took very little time for him to realise that all but a select few of them required significant instruction. But before that could happen, he had to regain control of his class. Walking over to Jitters he retrieved a length of coiled leather, and turned back to face the group.

The coil dropped slowly to the ground as the students continued to lose control over their horses. His arm moved methodically, up and back before smoothly curving downward. The length of leather reached out before him, snapped the air with an ear splitting sound, and settled rapidly to the ground. The horses started a little harder at the sound, but it had the desired effect on the students. One released the ears of his horse, another sat straight up and ceased yelling, and in a matter of moments the horses had all settled back into walks and began to mill about.

All but three. The riders of these three managed to hold the reigns of their horses, were sitting them properly and continued their brief lap around the corral before settling to a stop. Pointing at them each in turn he said, “You three, dismount. Advanced training, maneuvers and mounted combat begins next week.” Looking over the rest of the class he allowed himself a small sigh.

“As for the rest of you,” He took a deep breath and allowed his voice to crescendo as he spoke. “FEET IN YOUR STIRRUPS, BACKS STRAIGHT, REIGNS IN HAND!! I’LL TEACH YOU LOT TO RIDE AND THEN IT’LL BE TWENTY LAPS AROUND THE WALL FOR LYING!!!!”

OOC: This is the second to last post. Post your replies, I'll make one final post, and we'll move onto the next class. I just cut my hours back to part time, so hopefully I'll be able to move things along a bit faster in the future. My apologies again for the wait.

OOC2: The three students in Donovan is referring to are Zoe, Edalia and a nameless NPC(A redshirt, if you will).  For the rest of you, you must make at least one post after my final one in which you RP your punishment for lying. Thank you. :)

OOC: I'm sorry about holding you all up, but cest la vie as they say. I'm back and ready to keep posting, so if you all can get your replies up within the next 7-10 days, I'll move us right along to the last two posts. Thanks, and apologies again for the delay.

As he watched the motley group of students before him Donovan tried not to laugh. Several of the cadets were having trouble, and at least two of the ones who claimed to be able to ride were in serious danger of being thrown from their horses. Shrugging inwardly to himself, he headed to where Jitters stood. The horse’s eyes flashed at the havoc the students were creating, and Donovan patted his side calmly in reassurance.

“It’s alright, boy. None of ‘em picked you.” Swinging easily up into the saddle, he spurred the stolid creature around and faced the class.

“You lot look like a bunch of old pros!” There was a forced lightness to the words that carried out across the corral. “But just to be on the safe side, how’s about we start with a couple of laps around the fence before we head out and see what you kids can do.” Keeping his hands carefully away from the reigns, he gave Jitters a soft double kick to urge him forward into a trot.

“C’mon now! And try not to beak any legs, horse or otherwise!”

You are welcome. 8)

Have fun Vera!